A Tale of Francesco's Infanzia
by LittleSongWolf
Summary: A series of short stories about Francesco Bernoulli while he was a youngster. "Infanzia" is Italian for "childhood."
1. Difficoltà Trouble

**I know, I know, I should be working on my other stories, such as _Planet Earth Prix_ and _Dating_, but I could not resist starting this.**

**Basically, this is a series of short stories about the childhood of Francesco Bernoulli.**

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**I originally had this one posted as a seperate story, but I decided to include it as part of this series of short stories. And since this is the first one that I wrote, it's the first one to be featured. Enjoy!**

**Oh yeah, and Francesco is between the ages of 7 and 12 years in this particular story.**

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Engines starting. Crowds cheering. Excitement filled the air. It was the day of the big race on the Monza race-track in Porto Corsa, Italy.

Like all of the other cars, young Francesco was excited. He sat by his mother as they waited for the race to start. "Mama, when-a Francesco grows up, he-a wanna be a race-car!"

Mrs. Bernoulli smiled. "Yes, Francesco, I a-know you do. And as long as you-a follow your dreams, you-a will. You-a will be a very good race-car."

"And maybe, one day, he-a will race the famous Pista di Alta Velocita!"

Mrs. Bernoulli's eyes grew wide at that thought. She, like many others, was well aware of the dangers of the turn and the fatalities that resulted from it. And the last thing she wanted was to see her son killed while attempting to race the turn. "No you-a won't, Francesco! It's-a too dangerous!"

"But-"

"No buts!"

After a few moments of silence, Mrs. Bernoulli noticed the look of disappointment on her son's face. She quickly decided to change the topic. "So are you excited for the race? Who do you-a want to win?"

Francesco instantly cheered up. "Yes, Francesco is-a very excited! And Francesco don't-a know who he wants-a to win."

"That's ok. I don't-a know who I want to win, either. I would just rather-a watch the race and-a see who wins."

"So Mama, just-a curious, why do they still-a race the Pista di Alta Velocita if it is-a so dangerous?"

"I don't-a know. But all of the race-cars who-a do race it are highly experienced, and have been-a racing for a long time; they know what they are-a doing. There is a reason why this race is-a only for the experienced, and that turn is-a the reason."

"But if they still allow it to be-a raced, then certainly it-a must not be-a that dangerous."

"It is-a very dangerous, my dear. Cars have-a died racing it."

Francesco didn't respond; rather, he was thinking of how to prove to his mother that the turn was not as dangerous as she thought it was.

The lights turned green. The race-cars accelerated way, and the crowd went crazy as they cheered their favorite racers on.

While his mother was distracted by the race, Francesco snuck away. He drove through the city, until he eventually reached the start of the Pista di Alta Velocita turn. Two of his friends happened to be there. "Hey guys, what are you-a doing here?"

One of the young cars, a beige male, responded. "We are-a here to see the race. What are you-a doing here?"

Francesco smiled. "Francesco is-a gonna prove to his mama that the Pista di Alta Velocita turn is not-a so dangerous. Once the race-cars a-come, he is-a gonna drive onto the track and-a race it-a with them! In fact, Foglia, Luce, you two should-a come with him!"

Foglia, the yellow-green female, hesitated. "Francesco, that's-a not a good idea. Your mother is-a right: this turn is-a dangerous. We take a huge risk by-a sneaking onto it and-a racing it."

Luce added his remarks. "Plus, when we-a race it, it's when the track is-a not being used, partly because of its-a danger - and to not be-a caught, of course, cause we all know-a how much trouble we would-a be in if we got-a caught. But this time, it's-a being used for the race. If we-a snuck onto the track now we would-a risk serious injury to both ourselves and the racers. Not to mention that we would-a be caught for sure!"

"It's one thing when we-a sneak onto it when it's-a not being used, but it's a completely different story when it is-a being used - as, in, now! There is no way I'm-a sneaking onto it when it is-a being used, cause I don't-a want the next funeral that I a-go to to be mine!"

"Sorry, Fran, but if you're actually going to be-a crazy enough to-a do this, you're on your own. The risks of-a getting into serious trouble - or worse, dying - are-a too great for my likings!"

Francesco sighed. "You two-a need to stop-a worrying so much. Francesco knows what he is-a doing."

"No you don't!"

"You-a could be killed!"

Francesco was now ignoring his friends, as he heard the race-cars approaching.

Foglia noticed. "He's still-a gonna do it, isn't he?"

Luce nodded. "I a-think so. I just-a hope he lives."

The race-cars were now in sight. Francesco accelerated onto the track.

"Woah!" The leading race-car decelerated to avoid crashing into the youngster. Other cars did the same, but not in enough time. A few of the cars had a small crash about half-way through the turn.

Francesco was completely unaware of what was happening behind him. He continued to drive.

Back near the starting point, Mrs. Bernoulli and the other cars listened to the announcer as he explained the events going on at the famous turn. She looked to where her son had been, but he was not there. "Francesco?" No response. Mrs. Bernoulli was now worried. "Francesco, where are-a you?" The other cars were now looking at her, wondering what was going on. She noticed. "Have any of you cars-a seen my son Francesco?" They all shook their heads and told her that they haven't seen him.

Not expecting her son to have been the young car that foolishly drove onto the track during the race, Mrs. Bernoulli feared the worse. "Francesco!" She left her spot and drove through the city, hoping that she would be able to find her son.

Meanwhile, as Francesco continued to drive on the track, he ran into what he had hoped he won't run into the most - a police-car. The young car came to a screeching halt. He smiled sheepishly. "Oh, uh, ciao Polizia."

"You're in a heap of trouble, kid," the serious-faced police-car stated.

Francesco tried to defend himself. "But Francesco didn't do anything."

"Don't-a lie to me, Francesco Bernoulli. I was watching you."

Francesco gazed down, avoiding the police-car's glare.

"Where's your mother?"

Francesco looked up at the police-car. A surge of panic went throughout his body. He started to beg. "Please, Polizia, don't-a tell my mama! If she finds out about this she'll spank me! Francesco is-a very sorry! Don't-a tell her, please!"

"I'm-a sorry, but she-a must know about this."

"No, please! Francesco promises that this will never happen again!"

The police-car grabbed the youngster and forced him to follow. Francesco continued to whine and beg.

Mrs. Bernoulli had just finished asking a yellow car named Luigi if he had seen her son when she spotted the police-car. And with the police-car, she saw her son. "Francesco!" She drove up to them. "Oh, Francesco, I was so-a worried about you! Polizia, thank you so much for-a finding my son!"

"You're-a welcome, Mrs. Bernoulli. Now, I must-a tell you what your son has-a been up to..."

Francesco nervously watched as the police-car explained to his mother what he had done. Afterwards, Mrs. Bernoulli glared at her son. "Is this-a true?"

Francesco nodded. "Francesco is-a sorry..."

"Francesco Bernoulli, you are-a in soo much trouble!" Mrs. Bernoulli grabbed her son and dragged him back to their house.

Once inside their house, Mrs. Bernoulli instantly started to scold her son. "I cannot-a believe that you actually-a ran right onto the track-a during that race! You could of-a caused an accident and injured, even killed somebody!" she yelled.

"Francesco is-a sorry; it'll never happen again!" Francesco cried.

"It better not!" Mrs. Bernoulli grabbed a paddle. "And I'm-a gonna make sure that it-a never happens again! Turn around!"

Francesco's eyes grew wide with fear. He started begging. "No! Mama, please, no! I'm-a sorry! Francesco is-a very sorry!"

"I'm-a sorry, Francesco, but you must be punished!"

"Francesco promises it-a won't happen again! Mama, please, don't spank me!"

Francesco attempted to escape, but his mother caught him, and positioned him for the punishment. Francesco started crying and screaming as he tried to protect his undercarriage. "Mama, please, no! No no no!"

But it did him no good. His mother started to whack his rear with the paddle. That caused Francesco to scream and cry even more. "Ow oww Mama please ouch stoppit owww I'm sorry owch wahahahaha!"

After a minute or two the punishment was over. Mrs. Bernoulli instructed her son to go to his room. Still crying, Francesco did as he was bidden. Mrs. Bernoulli sighed. _Why does my son-a have to be a troublemaker?_

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**"Polizia" is Italian for "Police" and in this context is being used as the equivilent of saying "Officer." In case you are curious, "Foglia" is Italian for "Leaf," and "Luce" is Italian for "Light."**


	2. Imbarazzo Embarrassment

**In this story, Francesco is between the ages of 5 and 7 years.**

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It was the day of the Festival di Primavera (Spring Festival) in Porto Corsa, Italy. Italian music was played, cars danced, food and drinks were served, flowers and other plants were grown or placed all over the city, children released native butterflies, spring-themed arts and activities were conducted, and everyone enjoyed themselves.

One of the traditional activities of the festival was the talent show. Cars of all ages and types participated in this most anticipated of events. The show was just a few minutes away, and all of the participants had last minute preparations.

"Mama, do you think I'll-a win?" One of the younger participants, a male Formula-One, asked.

His mother patted his "shoulder." "Yes, Francesco, I think you will-a win. But even if you don't-a, you'll always be a winner to-a me."

The young car smiled. "Thanks, Mama. Francesco will-a do the best he-a can!"

"Yes, I know you will-a, my son."

"Let me-a show you!" Francesco grabbed a soccer ball, and started to bounce it around.

Mrs. Bernoulli smiled as she watched her son. She applauded when he finished. "Bellissimo, Francesco! Oh, I think the show's starting!"

A Lamborghini was on the stage. "Ladies and gentlecars, girls and boys of all ages, I'm proud to announce the start of this year's talent show! We'll-a start our show this afternoon with a classical juggling performance by none other than-a Luce and Foglia!"

The two young cars took to the stage, and each juggled five apples. They also tossed apples to each other as they juggled. When they finished, everyone applauded (as they did after every performance).

Next was a lassoing performance from a middle-school teenager. He swirled the lasso all around to the sound of western music.

That was followed by a dance performance from a microcar. She drove, spun, jumped, and balanced on less than four wheels. All the while keeping up with the rhythm of the music she danced to.

Then an old sportscar took to the stage, and played the piano. He played a song that was written by the famous Mozart. He did not miss even one note.

After that, a chorus of high-school and college students sang a gorgeous choir song. Everyone was awed by it.

The Lamborghini wiped tears from his "cheeks." "That was-a so beautiful...anyway, next up we have-a little Francesco Bernoulli!"

It's-a your turn!" Mrs. Bernoulli enthusiastically told her son. "Now go-a get them!" She gave Francesco a gentle push from behind. He eagerly drove onto the stage with the soccer ball.

Only to be greeted by hundreds of pairs of eyes staring at him. Excitement was quickly replaced by stagefright. The young car stood still on the stage.

"Francesco, is everything ok?" Mrs. Bernoulli asked, concerned.

"Mama, Francesco is-a nervous!" Francesco replied.

"Just-a relax, baby. Close your eyes for a moment, forget that everybody is-a there!"

A few moments passed. Francesco tried to relax, but he couldn't. His entire body was shaking. Then, all of sudden, he leaked.

That caused everybody to laugh. Once he realized it, Francesco became very embarrassed. He started to cry.

Mrs. Bernoulli immediately drove onto the stage and hugged her son. "It's-a ok, Francesco, everything's-a gonna be alright," she comforted.

The young car tried to hide himself, not wanting to be seen.

Not wanting her son to be humiliated any more than he already was, Mrs. Bernoulli carried him off of the stage.

Mrs. Bernoulli apologized to the Lamborghini as she drove by him. To her surprise, the Lamborghini was not angry, and understood.

The two cars left the festival. Eventually, Francesco stopped crying. "Francesco is-a very sorry...he did not-a mean to-a let you down..."

Mrs. Bernoulli started to rub her son's "back" to comfort him. "Shh...it's-a ok, Francesco. There is-a nothing to be-a sorry about. These things happen."

"It's just that I get so-a scared around big crowds..."

"That's alright; it's-a something that you'll eventually get-a used to. Now, do you want-a gelato?"

That seemed to cheer Francesco up. "Si!"

"I-a thought so." The mother took her son to get some gelato (Italian ice cream).

The young car was thoroughly enjoying the frozen treat. Just watching him made his mother happy.

"So, do you want to go-a back to the festival or just-a go home?" Mrs. Bernoulli asked.

"Francesco wants to-a go home," Francesco replied, not wanting to be seen and laughed at if they returned to the festival.

"Ok, sweetie." After giving her son a kiss, the two Formula-Ones drove back to their house in the Italian city of Porto Corsa.


End file.
